Jarethin Wolfwin
Jarethin Wolfwin, '''is a retired Marshal of the Lords Alliance, whose retirement began at the end of the Fourth War. He now resides in Silverpine forest and can be found with his wife, Nehemia, and his daughter, Roxy. |Row 2 title = Reaction|Row 2 info = Alliance | Horde|Row 3 title = Occupation|Row 3 info = Blacksmith of Silverpine|Row 4 title = Former Occupation(s)|Row 4 info = Marshal for the , Commander of the 301st Legion, 1st Recon Team for Twilight Highlands|Row 5 title = Former Affiliations|Row 5 info = 301st Legion, Alliance|Row 6 title = Companion(s)|Row 6 info = Orrick Frostbeard, Itzodaan, Simon Irdis †, Dorni Sparkfuse †, Humphrey Morton, Ehecatil Ad'ail, Kait Bearsoul †, Lamuril Starcaller †, Gregory Frostjaw|Row 7 title = Mentor(s)|Row 7 info = Orrick Frostbeard|Row 8 title = Relative(s)|Row 8 info = Nehemia (wife) Roxy (Daughter) Unnamed Father † Unnamed Mother † Karlen (Older Brother) † Geralt (Twin) † Orthos (Younger Brother (Undead)) ----|Row 9 title = Status|Row 9 info = }} " History '''The Ash of the Forge My story began, not with the clashing of blades, nor the hum of arcana, but with the clank of a bloodied hammer hitting a broken forge. ' ' Many years ago, long before the world was broken by the fury of Deathwing. I grew in a small town in Silverpine. It was a modest land, while some may call it grim, but I called it home. The tall, foreboding trees shading my small town, and the house for the Wolfwins. We Wolfwins where some of the first to follow Archibald Greymane when he first founded the city of Gilneas. It was in fact my great grandfather, and my grandfather who forged most of the armor for the knights of Gilneas, long before the Orcs invaded. Even after the King's death, we Wolfwins have carried the tradition of forging some of the greatest armor and weapons for the soldiers of the Walled City. ' ' When I was but just four my father passed down to me and my three brothers the blacksmith's hammer. For years upon years we mastered the forge, crafting armor and weapons that to this day I pride myself in. I was adept in the crafting of armor, a trait my brothers sometimes lacked, but made up for in their own blacksmithing sects. My oldest brother, Karlen, was a master of weaponsmith, crafting sword, hammer, and axe alike. He crafted my hammer, Alias, over twenty years ago, and it still holds to this day. My twin, Geralt, was the best mount equipment forger in all of the kingdoms, his abilities stood against even the dwarves and their ornate yet ironclad ram armor. Finally, there was my youngest brother, his name was Orthos, and he was the only Wolfwin in our family who was not of the Forge, Orthos found his passion to be in spellcraft, a passion that would soon sow the seeds of my family's demise. ' ' The''' Fall of the Wolfwins''' For years me and my brothers grew in mastery, our names commonplace in the various forges throughout Lordaeron; this was until the world began to fall into pit of endless conflict. We were not affected by the happenings of the world: that was until the Lich King. ' Orthos was found to be enthralled with Necromancy the' older we got, and eventually, without the knowledge of Karlen or any of us, he joined the Cult of the Damned. A sickly, putrid cult who would make sacrifices and other spells to become an abomination, an undead.' ' It was a calm winter's day, the snowfall softly sticking' to the ground of the morning hour. But that day is when everything changed... I awoke to the sound of screams, followed by the painful screeching of metal upon bone. I sprung out of bed from the noise, and ran into every room I could, the screams getting louder yet broken in nature. I ran outside and into the family forge, to see; pure horror.' ' Orthos had slaughtered our brothers without mercy. Karlen' was already dead, his body stripped of flesh, nothing but a broken husk of human meat and bone sprawled out across our family anvil. His blood soaked the iron, and dripped along the sides of the anvil, pouring out onto the cobblestone. Geralt was alive and as I approached closer, his chest, arms, and legs mangled, the muscles visible and without skin, his breaths shorter and shorter as time went on, the closer I got, the more I realized he had no hands and feet and his eyes gouged from their sockets. Tears welted in my eyes, unable to understand as the hooded figure looming above Geralt, removed his hood. ' ' Orthos was no more... This creature before me was dead' upon the inside and out. His skin a sickly green, and bloated from post mortem. His eyes yellow with a deathly gaze as his sickening face seemed to smirk, his cracked lips revealing a toothy, broken grin. His boned and melted fleshed hand sliding into his robe as this nightmarish vision of my brother stood upon me, gaining as he spoke with a voice of the demons of legend. "You shall be but fuel for the Lich King! All shall serve him!" ' ' He lunged upon me, with a dagger of blue energies, the' blade etched with carvings of some unknown language as he slashed upon me. I had no time to react, I pulled back as to not be caught in the gut, however the edge of the blade cut clean though the top of my breast, and clean into my neck, ripping the flesh and cutting to the bone. I staggered back, the blood dripping from the monster's blade as he cackled. I ran, the figure of my younger brother running upon me from behind, I ran into our stables and mounted Goldenhoof, my father's horse as I ran into lands unknown, uncaring as to where I went, tears and blood caking my clothes as I ran into the morning's light. My eyes began to fall, as I slowly, fell upon the back of my steed.' ' ''' '''The Unlikely Angel ' ' “Come on now laddie, ye've gotten so far, ye kinna give up now. Come on now boy, breathe lad, breathe!” Came a voice, a gruff one to say the least, it’s demeanor one of typical playfulness however in the moment one of frantic nervousness. Each passing moment I felt a rush of pure warm energy, as if the sun gently bathed my skin in a passionate hug, my eyes fluttered just a moment as I looked above me. I was greeted with eyes looking back at me, large and green eyes and a bulbous nose poking out of a great brown bushy beard. I looked around to see what was the most marvelous sight I’ve ever beheld. Dwarvish architecture in large columns for as far as the eye could see. Bronze, gold, and emerald hues pushing along the walls as I felt the heat of a thousand forges gently bush along my skin. “Oh thank tha maker's yer alive! I was beginning ta think Gegory was right! I knew ye'd push though, ye got tha heart o' one who wou'!” Said the figure over me, I realized now it was a dwarf, and I was laying low, making him seem far bigger than he was. His armor smooth and etched with dwarvish runes his shoulder plates pushing along his long hair, which poured out next to his massive beard. “Come on now laddie, get on yer feet, ye've been sleep for days!” he said, excitedly as he extending his arm to help me from the bed in which I lay. I felt my blood rush to my head, as I struggled to position myself, yet made my first step, before tears began to fill my eyes, remembering now what had happened, as a sharp pain shot though my neck “W-what?” I croaked, the pain in my neck surging as I spoke. “Nae nae nae, dinna speak, nae now. My name be Orrick, I found ye passed out on your horse on tha road ta Southshore! My, ye where in terrible condition when we found ye! If it was a couple o' hours later ye'd be buzzard food...” He scratched at his massive beard as I turned to turned the face the shorter statured Dwarf, a smile of kindness upon his face. “Ye just rest now lad, I’ll talk to ye when yer wounds be mended!” He said, as I obliged, gently falling to sleep. In the weeks that followed I began to heal, and able to speak more and more, as I explained to Orrick what had happened in Silverpine, it pained me to see such a happy dwarf get filled with sorrow as I spoke of what had happened, but he made it known that my town was not the only one ruined by the Lich King’s influence. He said that many many towns and many many cities had fallen due to his destruction. And that began a spark in my heart, a spark of hatred for the Lich King. It was in only two months’ time, that I was not only back on my feet, but I was also training with Orrick. He trained me to wield a hammer, he claimed that training would “Get ye strong an' ready!” despite me not knowing what I was exactly getting ready for: I’d know, in time. ' ' The 301st ' ' It was the third month of my rehabilitation when I started to learn more about Orrick Frostbeard. He was a kind spirit from a tiny village in the eastern Loch Modan. He talked to me about his journey to Ironforge and of the Second War, which he was a veteran of. He was a part of the holy paladin sect known as the Knights of the Order of the Silver Hand. Orrick talked of the fall of Prince Arthas Menethil, who has changed into this ‘Lich King’ aberration. Orrick told me that the Alliance where going to go to Northrend and defeat this monster, whose destruction could very well destroy the whole of Azeroth. The more we trained I was struck with eagerness as Orrick told me of his battalion and how they where going to go to participate in the tour to Northrend, and as time drew on, I realized that he wasn’t training me just to heal from the past, but to prepare for the future. He came to me on a chilly fall evening, I was overlooking Kharanos from the Gates of Ironforge, the snowfall falling peacefully as I felt the heat from the gates slowly warm my back as I faced the frigid always winterlike air of the dwarven land. I heard the sound of snow crunching softly behind me, under heavy footsteps. At first it was just a single pair of footsteps but I could hear many footsteps pushing the snow beneath their boots, with a bit of confusion I turned, the cool winter air causing my overgrown hair to flow to the side of my face. I looked upon this group before me, it was 9 in total, of Human, Gnomish, Draenei, Elvish, and but one single dwarf, Orrick, who seemed to be leading the party as he walked his bouncy yet heavy walk towards me. “Lad, since tha moment we got ye aff that horse, I knew ye where something special. I think tha light made it so we wou' meet, Jarethin, an' I won't let that be in vain. Jarethin, me friend, wou' ye take up arms with me an' me fellow soldiers, will ye fight with me for tha memory o' your fallen brothers?” As he spoke, he knelt before me, extending his arms to present a hammer my brother made many years ago, however, this simple weapon he named Alias has taken on a new form, it seems to have been decorated with the craftmanship of the dwarves. The once simple iron and bronze handle has been replaced with ornate carvings of obsidian and gold, with ram horns that adorn the hilt, pointing upward before the large ruby face, a large stone of pure red glowing in the snow as the light itself seemed to gleam off it. “ We found it on your horse when we found ye. It was broken an' a little worn down, so we had some o' our best fix it up for ye ta use, me friend.” He looked up at me from his kneel as he spoke, a smile visible from his braided beard, as the rest of the party got to one knee as well, tears welted in my eyes as I gripped the hammer in my hands. It was warm, as if the spirit of Karlen still thundered within its ruby heart. I held the hammer to the sky as I started to cry, tears not of sorrow, but that of joy as I shouted a proudful “For the Alliance!” My new allies stood to their feet and joined me in a salute, the sounds of our hurrahs filling the steamy air as I felt so happy, so at home, for the first time since those many months ago. I had found a family. It took no time for me to meet them all. Of course, there was Orrick, the healer of the group, he seemed to be the oldest and the kindest of them all, despite having the humor and beer consumption of a dwarf, when it came to us in the 301st, he would give anything to see us happy. Itzodaan was another healer, and the only Draenei in the party. He was massive to say the least, standing at nine feet total. His ironclad hooves cracking cobblestone if he walked hard enough. His muscles bulging and prominent as his tentacle like beard was ornated with Dwarvish rings and his horns pierced with much the same. Despite the Draenei’s massive size, never have I seen him, even to this day hold a weapon, instead holding always a book or an object of prayer. Itzodaan seemed to be Orrick’s understudy in a way, always helping with Orrick when necessary. There was Simon and Dorni, a human and gnomish pair who both worked with various machines and contraptions, keeping up with the best of the technology the Alliance had to offer. Simon was thin, almost sickly so, his thin greasy blonde hair receding back to the point of baldness, his greasy fingers cut and burned from his various experiments. Dorni was quite the opposite of his partner, he was stocky and burly, taller for a Gnome, standing the height of a small Dwarf. He had short cut hair, in the fashion of a true army style buzzcut. His purple goatee was the only defining feature beside the reddish hued eyepatch, covering up a sickly glossy eyeball on his left side. Humphrey was another, he was a human Beastmaster who came from Gilneas. Me and Humphrey became fast friends, bonding over the past in Silverpine. His long black hair unruly as it laid upon his shoulders. He had scars lining his body, clearly not from battle but instead from his companions, Silver and Gold; the cleverly named hound and eagle, which where his companions not only on the hunt, but in the day to day as well. Silver was a common hunting hound in Gilneas, its long jowls causing her to drool constantly, and fur black as night. Gold was black as well, with a silvery hue along her wings, her feathers hard to the touch and stood out against the yellow scaled talons for her feet. Humphery was not the only hunter in the group, Ehecatil was also a hunter, though he preferred his skill with a bow and arrow than a gun and beasts. He was thin yet muscular, his face toned and young his bright green eyes covered by a bright red tuft of hair, that he kept in braids in battle. He had a bow of elvish make, he named it ‘Alunethildor’ which is elvish for ‘Hunter’s Mark’. Ehecatil kept to himself, and sometimes came off as conceded, never wearing a shirt and sometimes making the other members and I suspicious that he was merely showing off. Kait and Lamruil where the two elves of the group. Their pale blue and purple skin blurring and camouflaging them in the moonlight. Though they never cared to say anything to us, we all knew they where in love, little nuances making themselves known despite them both having the stoic side of their Kaldorei ancestors. Kait was the only druidess in the group, she was able to transform into a massive bearlike creature, whose fur was similar to her natural skin color, but her size and terrifying roar struck fear into any who heard it. Lamruil was less of a front-line fighter, he used the powers of arcana to cast whimsical spells out of nowhere. I tried to learn from him once, how to cast like a mage, however his wit and cunning surpassed anything I could possibly learn. Finally, there was Gegory. He was the leader of the 301st and the only other warrior besides myself. Gegory was a legend of the First War, Second War, and traveled to fight the Burning Crusade. He stood tall and powerfully, his long blonde hair braided and seemed to wave in the wind as his aura of heroism shone for all to see. One may think he was egotistic; however, he was truthfully not. He cared for us, his well-mannered nature keeping us all on our path. His voice was gruff yet smooth in its own dialectic. He always wore plate armor, whose etchings where marked as one of a high-ranking Alliance member. He was proud of us, as we were of him, and he helped me and all of us prepare for what was to come… as in a year’s time we found ourselves in Northrend. The Chill of Frost An army of ten thousand landed onto the Borean Tundra’s harsh ground, the marching and drums of war echoing in the distance and both the Alliance and Horde took arms in the resistance of the Scourge. Our battalion was sent to cull the Scourge of Death’s Stand so our forces could move though to Dragonblight. It was a harder task than it sounded, many good men and women died on the battle field as our troops marched farther into the war torn Northrend. Once we made it to Dragonblight, we thought with the aid of dragons that it would have been an easy passage though the Wrath Gate, of course, that proved a suicide mission for all there. Gegory, our leader, told us to hold our formation near Wyrmrest Temple, however the next day he was gone and Simon as well, the pair never to be seen again (Or so we assumed). Farther we pushed with Orrick as our new leader. For days to months our campaign took us until we reached the Final Goal, Icecrown. The 301st went to Corp’rethar for a simple assassination target. A death knight commander had sent hundreds of scourge towards the Ebon Blade stronghold The Shadow Vault. This commander went by the name Frostjaw and was said to have the ability to raise hundreds of corpses to attack in mere seconds. Every one of us went into fight Frostjaw, not knowing that this foe would destroy everything we had known. We marched onto Corp’rethar to see before us a vision of horror, atop one of the spires, was Gegory. What little we could see of his body was covered in a putrid green flesh, ripping from the stitches that kept his body together. His jaw was removed and replaced with a metal bracketed dud-jaw, his visage one of horror and of a true abomination. His armor was blue and spiked, thick wolf like fur poking from the crevasses as the shoulder plates gave off a sickly blue aura, the armor was shiny yet seemed to make the snow patter off it, as if the armor itself was colder than the snow. The aberration raised its sword towards us, as we where all horrified by what our former commander had become. “You will become but a pawn for the Lich King. I shall be your redeemer.” It howled as fell from the archway, it landed from an impossible height without swaying as it charged Dorni, who had no time to react as the fallen hero plunged his blade into his leather armor, deep into his heart as Dorni screamed, his screams being muffled with the sounds of his body being ripped apart. “Suffer as I DID!” the aberration screamed again as it raised its bony, wretched hand as corpses around us began to rise. Husks of Alliance and Horde soldiers rose, their wounds still oozing blood and putrid black liquid as they started to shamble towards us. ' ' “Stand yer ground! Don’t let em’ touch y-“ Orrick started to say, as he saw the numbers rise; twenty, thirty, fourty…. More. As even the gutted corpse of Dorni rose and began to march towards us. We where doomed, the scourge taking formation and surrounding us. Kait turned into her beast form, only to be jabbed by dozens of spears, killing her slowly and painfully. Lamruil followed suit, but not before casting a massive detonation that killed a hundred scourge, with him among them. The scourge where relentless in their attack. Itzodaan doing anything to keep us afloat, as Humpherey, Orrick, Ehecatil, and I kept our resistance. Our last stand was now, as one by one we all where pinned by the scourge. The scourge did not kill us however, but all of us, except for Orrick, where pinned down by the hundreds of scourge. Orrick himself was face to face with the Gegory, his fallen friend. Orrick raised his blade, tears falling down the snow-covered beard that poked from his helm as he spoke with a voice of pure sorrow “Please Gegory, this isn't ye... Ye ain't this, lower your blade, friend.” Orrick started to lower his blade, as the figure marched forward, the snow seeming to turn to ice beneath the plate boots of the death knight. “No. I am not Gegory. I am Frostjaw, I serve the Lich King, and you are my ENEMY.” He shouted as ice began to shroud the legs of my leader, Orrick began to freeze to the ground, stuck as the figure got to Orrick’s face. His puss filled face oozing and melting off his bones as he rose his fist and slammed it into Orrick’s skull, over and over he slammed, the sounds of our screams and the scourges praise filled roars filling the chilly sky, as Orrick was beaten, till near death. The Skybreaker would be our salvation, the gunship firing overhead as Gegory and his thousands of minions fled the scene, as we where left bloodied and broken, Orrick the one of us who was badly wounded. His face was smashed and nose broken, his legs where ripped and fractured from the frost, his legs opening easily and the bones and frozen blood congealed as he lay upon the icy summit. We never got to see the Lich King fall, but we heard tale of those who saw to his end, and for them I am eternally grateful. The Remnant of the Cult TBA Category:Characters Category:Grand Alliance Category:Human Category:Stormwindian Category:Kingdom of Stormwind Category:Stormwind Peerage